


Ruby Red

by intergalacticfreckle



Series: Here I Am [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), libbylumos
Genre: Abuse, M/M, Phanfiction, Song fic, libbylumos - Freeform, ruby red - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6936778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergalacticfreckle/pseuds/intergalacticfreckle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, I asked him, "Who are you, Red?" He replied, "I'm a mystery in red hair dye. That's all you need to know."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruby Red

**Author's Note:**

> -originally posted on wattpad  
> -based on ruby red by libby tidley  
> -part 1 of my 'here i am' series based on the ep by libby tidley  
> -trigger warnings for abuse and major character death

What's your favourite colour?

Mine is red.

It wasn't always red.

I never gave much thought to colour before I met him. If anyone asked me my favourite colour, I would say green. My walls at my childhood home were green, and most plants were green. I have a mild obsession with plants. But in the blink of an eye, red was the best colour in the world.

Red was the colour of the cut on his lip the first time I ever met him. Red was the colour of his presumably dyed hair. Red was the colour of the coat he wore every day he came into the shop. Red was the name he gave me to write on his cup, day after day for two months. Red was the colour of his tired eyes the last time I saw him.

Red was the colour of my knuckles and the colour that was dotted on the hole in my wall when I saw him on the news.

His cheeks were red and blotchy from the cold on the first day, and dimples formed in them as he smiled brightly at me, rubbing his hands together.

"Just a hazelnut hot chocolate to go, please," he'd said, digging in his pocket for some change. He nodded when I asked him if he wanted cream on it, handing over the money before I asked for it. I'd taken a take-out cup and scribbled down the order, sharpie hovering over the name line.

"Who's this for?" He looked down for a few seconds, his hands on the counter barely peeking out from under his crimson sleeves. I noted the brown roots showing through in his bright red hair. "Red," he decided, lifting his head and grinning wider. I remember wondering how he could smile so much without hurting the cut on his lip as I turned and passed the cup to Louise so she could complete the order. His eyes were brown, and they were watching me with an unreadable expression when I turned back.

"Just wait over there, then. Have a nice day." I pointed to the other end of the counter and gave a stupid little wave.

"Thank you! You, too." He waved back and took a few long strides to the delivery station. He took his drink when it was ready and left me wondering if I'd see him again.

I did.

He came back every single day, Monday to Sunday and again and again. Louise and I would chat about him over coffee after closing hours. We'd make up a background for him, a new one every day. We theorised lost princes and rogue school teachers.

"He's odd," she'd say, "I like him."

I'd agree.

One day, I asked him, "Who are you, Red?" He replied, "I'm a mystery in red hair dye. That's all you need to know."

He was kind. He tipped me and Louise all the time, wished us good days, smiled at children and parents waiting in line. He was different.

I thought I'd fallen in love with him.

The day he came in with bloodshot eyes and a tired smile was the last day I saw him. He ordered a coffee, tipped us as usual, and left without looking back. Louise and I shared a worried glance when he wasn't there by ten the next day. Or eleven. Or at all.

Two days later, he was on the news.

"Dan Howell, 23 year old Uni student from South England, has been found dead in his apartment. Ex-boyfriend, Alex Jones, has been arrested on suspicion of murder." And then they were showing a picture of Red, smiling like normal, doing some ridiculous hand salute, no idea that he was going to die so soon, too soon, and I was pacing around my flat, thinking, _no, no, no_ , and I'd hit something hard, my fist stinging, and all I could say was, _why did this happen_.

It hurt like I'd lost a loved one, but I didn't know him at all. All I knew was an alias. A lost prince. A rogue school teacher. A runaway boyfriend.

I didn't even know his real name until he was dead and gone and I couldn't bring him back. If I'd known, I would have helped him. It almost felt like my fault, I should have asked more questions, gotten more answers. It could have been prevented.

Now, when anybody asks my favourite colour, I tell them it's red.


End file.
